All These Things That I Have Done
by PrettyinPink33
Summary: "You have no idea how much you piss me off," she says, blonde hair wild as the mind that carries it. "And you have no idea what I've done for you," he says, his voice always oh-so leveled, so emotionless. As the sheriff and the maiden stare, it's almost as if they both know everything that has happened, that is happening, that will happen between them. And maybe they do.
1. One

**This is my first Normero/Bates Motel Fanfiction, so I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it. This is a slow, short chapter, but I feel that I want to establish the characters a little bit more before we delve into the simmering plot.**

 **I'm going into a multi-chapter plot of the consequences of Sheriff Romero's actions in the last episode of Season 3. I'm going into how it's going to affect the town, Romero's career, Norma's life, and the relationship between them.**

 **As for that relationship, this is a painstakingly slow build-up. I want to give the characters their own respect before giving the relationship that is so tedious its own respect. Go Normero!**

* * *

They had always told Romero to take it easy. It wasn't like he was always so stoic, so tremendously detached from everything that inched its way into his life. But during the most horrid and the most peaceful years of his childhood, he maintained a focus that seemed to create unease in the people around him.

"Take it easy," urges Coach Trevylyn. He is 18 years old, playing his last season for White Pine Bay High School. It's raining, they're in the fourth quarter, and losing by 35. His jaw is merely clenching, and he wonders how such a menial action warrants his coach to handle Romero like he's a ticking time bomb as he walks off the field with a blank stare.

Even at 18, he tries not to think too much about the fact that he probably isn't angry at the game, but at his father. He doesn't bother to have contempt for his coach for not knowing the fucking **half** of it. He doesn't rub his knuckles, still aching not from the monstrous tackle of the other team five minutes ago, but because he punched his wall last night in his silent rage, angry at the world, angry at the small town in Oregon full of ghosts.

Even at 18, he does nothing but nod his head at Trevylyn and look at the blissful, naïve crowd. Even at 18, he is able to detach himself from the game, from the ignorantly gleeful crowd, from the wet, dirty field, and nod his head as if everything is going to be okay.

They end up losing by 47.

Last week, he pulls a kid over for going 60 on Southbend. He does nothing more aggressive than perhaps knock on the window a little too hard. He is otherwise quiet and neutral, yet as he walks away from the fool's car, he sees him mouth "Jeez, take it easy." Romero gets in his car without a word.

So he sits now, sipping his coffee at his desk, at the rise of high noon, as if he was any Sheriff of any old town living his life like every person should.

What no one realizes is the coffee is bleak, it's been raining since 7, and he's been living the same damn life of doing anything _but_ taking it easy since he was 12 years old.

Maybe the anger should well in his chest, and it rises just a bit. But it stops. It's already come and gone too many times for it to take him aback.

He killed Paris. Of course he's angry at himself. As he taps his pencil on his desk, he wonders what in hell's name he thought he was doing as he stood on Bob's boat, pulling the trigger of his gun as if he had every right to do so.

But he didn't, and it bugs him. It bugs him that he still continues to pretend there is some worthy motive of killing Paris. He knows why he killed Bob. He knows why pulling the trigger came so easy to him. And maybe that's the closest to taking it easy as he's ever gotten.

* * *

Norma's heels click against the sidewalk. It was raining a few hours ago, but she's happy that the downpour has stopped and the sun is out. She thinks it's a good day as ever to get some errands run.

Her eyes wander as she walks down the street, but they stop on the sight that is familiar to her. Sheriff Romero, walking down the same sidewalk as her, clapping the back of the gentleman who stopped him in greeting. His face is emotionless as ever, yet when their eyes meet, Norma feels everything he does. She does not question why.

They walk towards each other, slow, every step calculated, as if they know exactly where they're both going, but as if they are going to walk right past each other. She sees Romero's boots slow as he approaches and she finds herself thanking the heavens for it.

"Norma."

"Alex! I was just going to give you a call. How have you been? Have you been eating?"

Romero furrows his brows. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have. How's everything?"

"Great—just great. Everything's perfect." She wipes the sweat furiously approaching her brow, and her hand trembles. Her assurances echo in both of their ears like any lie should.

There are some things in the world that she couldn't control, she has finally come to that understanding. But she is undeniably fierce, a raging bullet in the presence of delicate floating feathers.

Her son is everything to her. There is no way to explain it. The saying "*blank* is everything to me" has been used so many times in this world that saying it goes in one ear and out the other without a thought.

But for Norma, it goes beyond cliche. Everything Norma is, everything she does is for Norman. She sees his beauty, the glow of who he is. She sees it as a mother, as a daughter who never had anyone.

But she is also a woman. And she has forgotten that. When Romero asks her if she is okay, she does not think about her son. She does not think about the fact that her son is happy today, that he is healthy (physically). She doesn't think about Dylan taking her heart in the same way in the past two years.

She thinks about what happened three weeks ago. She looks into Sheriff's brown eyes, knowing that he knows. Feeling the hands like they way they felt her arms, as he slammed her against the wall in his house, asking her all of the questions she never wants to fucking answer.

For once, Norma Bates thinks about herself.

But, even then, she falls trap to lies. "Everything's just perfect."

He forgets to nod at her, he forgets to dissolve the tension. Instead he just stares. He knows she is lying, of course she is. His anxiety comes from the fact that he doesn't know why. So he just stares in wonder at the woman in front of him.

Norma clears her throat. She remembers when they stood on the sidewalk a year ago, experiencing the same silence they are now. She feels a warmth in her heart, no more because of who they were then than because of who they are now.

"Well, I uh." Romero swings his head forward, motioning towards his eminent destination. "I got to get going. I'll see you around."

"Okay. Bye." Her voice is delicate, her smile sweet. And as she walks away, she realizes she is okay for the moment. She remembers the sun is shining. She remembers that Norman is productive, happy, and having a good time today. She remembers that Bob Paris is dead.

* * *

 **NORMA KNOWS Y'ALL. Stay tuned.**


	2. Two

**I was initially really excited about starting this story, but I'm a little bit concerned because of the new Season and how the story is going to conflict with it. If the story was already developed with its own plot line and then Season 4 came along and different things happened, it would be okay. But I'm only one chapter into this, and so writing chapters and developing a plot while SIMULTANEOUSLY watching a completely different set of events take place in Season 4 is going to be hard and possibly not satisfying to readers.**

 **(This also explains why this chapter is so short.)**

 **I really encourage you guys to let me know what you think, and if it still works for me to continue.**

 **Thank you all for the reviews and PMs! I appreciate it so very much!**

* * *

"Don't. I'll put three bullets in you before you ever get your hands on that pistol." Romero's voice is steady and hinged as he gives his orders firmly. "Reach for it with just your thumb and forefinger. Two fingers only, lift it out of your pocket, okay? I see any other fingers uncurled, Bob…I'm gonna shoot you. Go on, two fingers."

Bob isn't stupid enough to disobey, Alex knows this. Even in high school, even when Bob was spending his days after school running races through the small drug market that had developed in White Pine Bay, he was always obedient to his teachers, the town authorities. He listened. He moderated himself to get what he wanted. This is what Romero was not good at.

But they talk, and Romero manages to look into the man's eyes that he has suddenly never hated more in his life. Alex was not hateful, his anger was more of a searing one. Not always rational, but never without moderation or without reason.

But with Bob, he hated. He hated with the entirety of his being, and the intensity of the hate had only erupted within the last 48 hours. He hated everything Bob had done to his town, he hated everything Alex knew he was about to do to Bob because of it. He thinks of his hatred as he talks about other things.

"You know, it was one of those moments where you kind of reflect on your life, you know. 'Cause I had always loved fishing, but I never could afford a boat like this. You know, not on a sheriff's salary. So I, uh, I found myself wondering: 'Why was I the only guy not benefiting from all of the money floating around in this town?'"

"Tell yourself whatever you need to, Alex. We both know why you're doing this, and it isn't about those girls. You know, right now, you are more like your dad than you ever have been. This is about you and what you want. How does that feel? To have spent your whole life trying to get away from someone you hate, only to turn into them."

He shoots. He shoots because he is not his father. He shoots because he has been a good man in a shitty town for far too long. He shoots because he deserves it. Because she deserves it. He shoots for all of the times he stood on Norma's porch, for the times when she was still just 'Mrs. Bates,' for when he told her they would never be friends.

He shoots because he remembers walking on the motel's concrete, seeing Norma's face for the first time in his life. He shoot because he realizes he and she are both different people from that day. He shoots because he knows everything now, he sees everything clearly as ever. He is a grown man, but he can only see her face, his father's face, his own being in this moment. So he shoots.

 _Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang._

As Norma stands and watches, she does not think about the events that unfolded on the same dock, with the same Sheriff, as he shot Jake Abernathy. She does not dare to make a sound.

She takes the gun, which seems to tremble in her hand. It is the gun that she packed before she followed behind Bob's car into the night, not knowing that Romero was doing the same thing. She thinks only about the conversation that began after Abernathy was killed. "When I say trust me, trust me." She considers these words carefully and deliberately. Because of those words, and those words only, she tucks her gun inside of her peacoat and walks away just as Alex's knees begin to buckle.


End file.
